


Distractions

by XenakisFox



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Self Indulgent Garbage, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 05:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5855572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XenakisFox/pseuds/XenakisFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alvanza thirst. Don't ask.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions

“Your teeth are quite sharp,” he says, the feeling of holy fingertips tracing over his abdomen raising gooseflesh in their wake. They are bare in each other’s presence, though there is no chill to cause the brief shivers that dance across his arms and legs. Is it anticipation, or simply a symptom of Zanza’s aura, entity wonders. His energy is fierce, yet bottled – it simmers just below his skin, itching to lash out. He does have a target at the present moment, however he is not cruel. At least, not as cruel as he could be.

A grunt is the only reply given as he sinks lower, nibbling along the smaller’s collar bone, slowly tilting his head to suck on his throat, teeth pressing pale patterns into reddened flesh. Alvis shuts his eyes for a moment, lulled into the sting of absentminded biting. Divinity’s hands are holding onto his hips, keeping him in place; as if Alvis would disobey him and vanish from his heated embrace. He was always so forceful at the beginning of these meetings, always so intent on asserting his power from the start. Entity couldn’t find reason for it, considering they had shared intimate space such as this in the past. But that did not matter now.

“How are you, Zanza?” Monado poses his question carefully, fingers careful not to reach out in an attempt at relaxing him (not yet; he has not finished his power-play), “You are more quiet than usual.” He feels a palm slip around his waist to his lower back, pulling him flush against the other’s body. His next words are whispered within their close proximity. “Is something on your mind?”

“Hardly.” A one word growl into his ear before his hair is pulled to the side, the action exposing his neck.

Alvis raises an eyebrow, finding he is barely bothered by the more thoughtful ministrations against his jugular. They are softer than before, his tongue tasting the underside of his jaw, lips fixating on specific spots with longer kisses. A whimper; quiet and needy, as he liked them to be. “--How do you mean?”

A beat passes and a hand meets his own, long digits grasping his wrist to pull his hand down between his own legs. “Touch yourself, will you? Perhaps that will bring an end to your inquires.”

Clearly, the god did not take multitasking into account. Doing as he is told, he begins to stroke along the length of his cock gently, his opposite hand tracing up the other’s side and around to his back. “I only inquire because I desire to remain aware of your mental state, Zanza.” His words show no sign of hesitance. He observes a slight quirk of his lips as divine pulls back.

“Your concern is not needed,” their mouths meet then, a series of tender kisses eliciting a warmth in his cheeks, “Though it is appreciated.” He wished they kissed more like that, at times. The gentle rendezvous of wet lips and slow movement felt more pleasant than he could properly describe. Though, of course, these are simply sensations via a physical form. He wonders how authentic the pinkish blush that tinges his features is. He quickens the pace of his stroking, however marginally.

“You know I am trustworthy.”

“I do. Moan for me.”

He does, form leaning into the other’s, head in the crook of his shoulder. It is a delicate sound, despite the low tone to it. It feels hot spilling off his tongue. “I d-do not understand.”

A hand combs through his hair, mouth brushing by his temple. “You do not have to. Enjoy this; cease your babbling.” The god directs his attention lower once more, the open-mouthed kisses he places on the side of his neck making him hum in satisfaction. He is deflecting his questions – something _is_ on his mind. Though it does not seem to be troubling him. At least not here and now, in their devotional affections.

Still, however, Alvis continues. “I hardly feel you have need to keep things from me, Zanza,” teeth drag along his skin, “Especially for the sake of _enjoying this_.” His breath hitches when he bites him hard just below his ear, the hand on divinity’s back pressing fingertips down between his shoulders. He realizes he is fully aroused, then, and his rubbing actions begin to settle a rising heat low in his stomach. Entity whimpers. “So aggressive.”

“Perhaps you should talk less.”

“Perhaps you should talk _more_.”

“Alvis,” he says, tone quiet, yet still maintaining its usual forcefulness. He pulls back, and straightens; he towers over the Monado’s small form. “Shut up.” He kisses him again, and it is much more rough than before. Softness is forgotten and replaced with tongue sweeping over his own, teeth clacking together in between shared breath. Alvis revels in the taste of his mouth, body aching for prolonged intimacy, no matter how unkind. Both hands raise to cup the other’s jaw, and he sighs as the act goes unpunished. Kissing was too often omitted from these meetings, replaced with more carnal needs instead. So he willingly accepts the abuse, lips turning a more pinkish hue from the other’s harshness. It is only when the abrasive affection draws to a close that Zanza is tender, mouths coming together and parting slowly. It is enough to make entity melt into the god’s hold.

“Why,” Zanza begins softly, leaning his forehead against Alvis’, “are you so interested in my every thought?”

“Habit,” the smaller replies. His answer does not stretch the truth – Alvis could easily recall how his nosiness developed. It was nothing new by far.

“If you must know, I am simply still thinking on the future. I desired something to take my mind off it for a spell, which is why you are here.”

“I see,” silvery eyes look up at him, lips pursing for a moment, “Has it been working?”

“Not as much as it could be.”

“My apologies.”

“Do not apologize,” he leans away, and Alvis already senses the environment starting to alter around them, on divinity’s command. He is bringing them some place more familiar; a room they frequented, brought forth by a need for closed quarters and an element of privacy. “Simply obey.”

“Yes, Zanza.” Their gazes meet, and he dares to crack a smirk.

The only response is visual: a slight quirk of one flaxen brow. “Good. Now, on your knees.”

**Author's Note:**

> Use your imagination.


End file.
